Marionette
by AkumaRed
Summary: "Fear is our greatest motivator." You were not supposed to remember, and I began to realize why. SI OC. [Darker themes, realistic]


**Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto or any of its characters!**

* * *

_Prologue_

[ _Demise is Imminent _]

* * *

_Not being dead isn't being alive.  
-_**E.E. Cummings**

* * *

Death. It wasn't an unfamiliar concept for me to ponder on, as it's a part of the cycle. Of course, you would not expect a teenager such as myself to think on such depressing topics. Instead, you would expect of me to be raging in hormones, to be carefully inspecting cute boys and daring friends to ask them out on a date. That's what was expected of me. I was told to fit in, to be one of them, to act normal.

Really, what was normal? I don't think there is a norm, there are just labels. The reason that people categorized under those labels act in such a way is because it is expected of them to do so. It is because they are told to, they are treated and forced to act in such a way because they really, truly, know nothing else. I won't lie and say that I, myself, do not throw out labels. I know I do, just like everyone else, as is the capacity of flock mentality and social conditioning. The only difference between me and most others is that I realize this, and they do not.

Or maybe they do, maybe they have noticed, but they suppress such knowledge and retain their status.

And when you think about that, you really cannot blame the others. It is hard to go against traditions and culture that you grow up within. Which is what brought me to this internal debate.

Death, as I stated before, is a cycle. It's what is unpreventable, even for so-called immortals. You can only escape it's grasp for so long before you find yourself in an afterlife whether it be purgatory or eternal rest with friends and family. That belief which lingers with so many people is what leads me to this conclusion: depending on what you think of the "what comes after", that effects how your afterlife will be.

I have no proof for this statement, merely my own opinions formed on what I have experienced, and what I currently am experiencing. Rebirth. I am sure you are familiar with this type of "what comes after". You have your memories cleansed and erased, and you are born again in a new body as a new person with a new name, starting over in a different world.

I was not lucky enough to escape remembering.

I remember everything, and yes, many memories are foggy and slowly dying with time, but I _remember_.

And it is because I remember that I am suffering. If I had simply been accepted in the mind wiping process, I wouldn't be having as much trouble adjusting here as I do now. I wouldn't feel quite as much _fear_. I was thrown into a world I knew I could not survive in, a dimension where I knew that I would be the first to fall. Of course, I did not immediately discover just _where _I was, but when I did, everything became so much worse.

Solely for _remembering_, I easily became the outcast of the herd. I became the one who acted out of their traditions and customs, the one who did not talk in the same patterns or understand the same jokes. And because of this, I have become hardened to the world, cold and emotionless to protect what little I could salvage.

I was the perfect puppet, the marionette controlled by the strings.

Because I remember.

* * *

It was dim, mainly shadows with the occasional, brief reflection of whatever light reached me. I could say it was completely dark, an endless abyss, but that wasn't quite the truth. I could feel my limbs bump against flesh whenever I shifted my position, my fingers momentarily pinching against a cushioned wall and my feet pressing firmly for a non-existent platform to stretch out my body. It was around me, a comforting cocoon that I allow myself to float within.

I couldn't tell you when I arrived in these murky depths, nor can I inform you as to when it was that I'd become conscious enough to realize that I was not where I used to be. Even now, as the time stretched limitlessly while I slept on in peace, I was in a daze, not fully absorbing my location or the situation I was in.

Years could have passed for all I was concerned, but I began to wake from my hibernation when I felt an almost unnoticeable twinge tugging at my abdomen. When I first came to the realization it _was _there, I found myself fidgeting idly as my hands tried to reach downwards and examine the source. It was due to this movement that I found myself pressed for space, and I began to notice how my warm resting place was a tighter fit, not as large as it had been. I could only wait as my mind took its leisure in rousing from its lucid coma state, the room I once thought as comfortable becoming squeezed.

The momentary pang turned into an everlasting ache, and I compared it to a growth spurt as I grew restless. I squirmed more often, and the padded zone I'd gotten myself into was clenching around me, no longer soft and alluring. I kicked outwards in attempts to stretch everything back into place, to make it go back to the safety it had been, but my attempts did little to nothing.

The ache developed a faint itchiness, the kind you would have with a healing scab that you wanted to reach and absently scratch. However, I could not appease this urge, and it began to grow more noticeable. I found myself twitching in small spasms as they became common hold from the sensation.

Then, after I finally felt as if I was going to die _again_, the still world I'd grown accustomed to was a frenzy of motion. Sharp contractions jarred my senses, my nerves boiling with pain at every movement. Liquid that felt similar to that of spit brushed against me, nudging me through an opening just a little bit easier similar to slicking someone with butter to escape an enclosed space.

When I felt a chill breeze over my head, a strong grip abruptly founded on my shoulders, and I was forcefully jerked outwards. Cold air slapped me in the face, and the instinct to breathe was heavy as I desperately tried to gulp in any precious oxygen I could take.

A strange muck was covering my face and muffling my senses, and when I felt as if I was going to hyperventilate from the lack of being able to _breathe_, something soft was swiftly wiped firmly over my face, clearing my nose and my airways. I heaved for that delicious _air_, and I reacted to these new conditions with the appropriate emotion to an unknown environment.

I screamed, my fingers curling into fists as they clenched against my chest. I felt panicked, and I was in _pain _there was _pain everywhere andithurtsobad _and I was so _scared_.

And then suddenly my frayed nerves were soothed, something gentle and warm hovering over my stomach. It felt foreign, an intrusion of my body, and I suspected it was some sort of sedative as I slowly calmed into quiet sniffles and they pain faded. When I was efficiently calmed, a sturdy grip hoisted me into a pair of arms that held a reassuring presence as the pressure on my stomach backed away.

I found myself, then, in bemusement as curious, wandering fingers explored my face and my body. Muted voices conversed with each other, and although I could not understand the gibberish, my tired mind hardly registered anything past the comfort I was being provided.

Several more words were exchanged, and I found myself being passed on into another pair of hands. These were shaky and felt weary, but the skin itself was unusually smooth, the fingers holding up my head feeling dainty compared to the calloused ones of my previous holder.

I managed to lift my eyelids a sliver through my lazy content, my vision blurry and in shades of grey. I was not too deterred as I glanced upwards, catching a vague shape of a gentle face and small smile. I heard several surprised gasps when I lifted a trembling hand towards the face, and through my haze I gave a weak gurgle.

The grip holding my lower body stiffened, but not in a harmful way, as I was cradled against warm cloth and skin that practically radiated heat. I allow myself to forgo dignity at that moment, snuggling against the source, and fell into a blissful slumber once more.

* * *

The process of becoming accustomed to a new body isn't pleasant. While being a baby and not having the developed abilities to do much past observe and garble unintelligible speech was boring, it was a difficult task. I was well aware, after I came to the realization that I had been reborn, that I had to even out when I accomplished the tasks of walking on my own two legs as well as revealing when I could speak. If I let myself get out of hand, there was always the chance of being labeled prodigy or unusually intelligent. I did not want such watchful and hungry gazes on my back throughout childhood.

Of course, I learned that it had not mattered later on when I was five years old. It did not matter how low I stayed under the surface, how subtle my actions were, for I had been reborn as a noble. I was born into that of a rich and wealthy family as to where failure was not an option. It was all so much worse when I discovered I was their _only _child and the heir to their business.

I also had a new gadget, a new part of my body and a fresh addition to the world, that I was acutely receptive to because of it not existing before. At the time of me becoming conscious of it and manipulating it, testing its limits, I did not have a name to put to the energy.

All I knew was that I could control it, and I could filter it throughout my entire body by sticking things to my hands and forehead and stomach and feet. When I was four, I had molded it into my hands without an object placed in my palms to experiment the possibilities it would cause. That was when I had my own light source.

Since the calculations of this energy had not been considered, and the fact that I was sensitive and _aware _and fully capable of using it since I was a year old, I had already fallen into the yawning jaws of the awaiting pit. Iron bars were loose and ready to cage me in.

It was when I turned five, about three months after my birthday, that my freedom had become limited. I was placed under constant scrutiny and lessons on proper etiquette, as well as many runs through tea ceremonies and dress-up.

"I'm going to teach you some basic arts to protect yourself with," my father had informed me.

I tilted my head to the side, curiosity evident. Displeasure marked his facial expression when he noticed my lack of masking my emotions, but he apparently shoved it aside as a mental note to work on it later as he straightened his spine and dulled his own face.

"Why, Father?" I inquired, my hands absently twisting the folds in my _kimono_.

"We are a rising, wealthy family in the trade," he replied without hesitation, "and you are the heir to our pride. While we are not well known within the ranks of the world yet, there is no doubt that an attempt on your life or a kidnapping will not happen."

I simply nodded and accepted what he gave me, believing it true, but that it had been translated into easier words for my toddler brain to understand. I was slightly insulted, and internally scowled at the barb that they by all means had no intention of giving me. A split-second decision had me palming my hands together in front of me as I said, "Do the lessons involve using this?"

I molded the chakra, as I'd learn it was called, into my hands as a glowing blue ball of light the size of a golf ball floated several inches above my skin. Father had stared, and though he showed nothing except brimming surprise and shock in his eyes, that was the equivalent to him gawking with his jaw touching the floor in terms of disrespect.

After several minutes, I shook out my hands to dispel the chakra ball, sweat gleaming on my forehead from the use. I may of increased my natural reserves significantly with the private practice and exploration of it, but my coils had yet to bloom and grow with enough chakra as to not exhaust myself to a certain point.

"How long have you been able to do such a thing?" Father strained through his teeth, looking as if he would start choking on his own tongue. His question made me wary, and the way he said it was leaning towards saying I should not of even known that the substance had existed at this point of age, especially than use it to my extent.

"I was at least a year old when I began to use it," I stated slowly, watching him with careful precision. "Only last year had I begun to create the light. I've been able to sense it for a much longer time than that."

His eyes were alight with an emotion I was very familiar with, having grown in this family of politics. Greed, eagerness, and anticipation danced in his eyes like fire, and sudden apprehension at having shown one of my cards hit me full force at his expression.

"What you have been using is what we call chakra," Father explained, "and I wish to teach you the barest minimum techniques in the shinobi arts."

_Shinobi. Chakra._

Alarms blared in my head, a roaring in my ears as I my body went numb. My world came crumbling within my mind at that moment, and while I forced myself into a blank face as I nodded in consent, my thoughts were whirling. When he took his leave, I slumped over and my forehead smacked into the table with a _thunk_.

I was in the _Naruto _world.

The one world where I _knew _I could not survive. The one world that I had always told myself I should avoid if I ever lived there. Death was a common part of everyday life, killing and murder and assassinations an efficient and simple way to gain some cash. Where magic voodoo was a chemical in your system to cause natural disasters and create elements from thin air.

Dread coursed through my system, and I swallowed harshly as I broke out in cold sweat.

_I was going to die._

If I wasn't already dead yet.

* * *

**Author's Note:** The temptation was too strong, and so here is my very own SI. I'm not much of a Naruto fan, I'll admit, but the idea and thought of including myself _realistically _into the world of Naruto was an idea I'd been considering for quite awhile. So here it is! No Betas, unfortunately. I hope to fix that issue when I can, because I'd appreciate having a Beta for this story. I lack confidence in my abilities to write this story type. I am aware that this is a short chapter, but it's a prologue and a mere base of her childhood. The important stuff will come the next couple chapters, though the canon characters will _not _appear for quite a while.

The timeline for my story has had an increase for three years between Obito's "death" and the attack of Kyuubi. I did this for the benefit of my OC as well as to make it more realistic. How is it realistic that Obito is powerful enough with the Mangekyo to control Kyuubi after _one fricking year_? I think not at all. This story is still somewhat canon, so consider it only semi-AU at best. As well as the increase of time between Kanabi Bridge and the Kyuubi rampage, my OC is two years older than Team Minato. While they are born sixteen years before Kyuubi, she is born eighteen years before Kyuubi. As a warning, she will also be a civilian with some shinobi knowledge. Her role is to be in the shadows, not right in the heat of battle. That doesn't mean she'll be pathetically weak, though.

**Brief Description**

**Name: **Suzuki Kazue - roughly translates to _First Blessing of the Bell Tree_  
**Hair: **light brown in color with natural gold highlights; reaches to mid-back and is styled in low ponytail or cascading over her shoulders  
**Eyes: **vivid shade of green, similar to leaves in color; they darken or brighten with her emotions  
**Height: **5 4"


End file.
